Mirror Image: Secrets.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does, though I'd love to take the twins home with me.

Pairings: Fred/George

Summary: Fred and George each make a decision, but while they are very different, are either of them wise ones? Ginny makes a decision as well, a decision to take matters into her own hands; but she can't do it alone.
Song: Reclusion by Anberlin

There's someone inside me that softly kills everyone around.
They don't know they're dead to me, cause intent never makes a sound.
All along they found I strangled lovers who've learned from slower hands,
With these eleven minutes I could teach you what I am...

---

Ginny Weasley had contented herself with sitting in her bedroom and pondering the strange events going on within the family for a whole of two minutes, before easing her door open again and peering down the hallway. George was still there, forehead resting against the door, looking entirely miserable. Ginny felt a pang of sisterly empathy and considered giving him a hug and asking properly to explain what was going on, but figured he'd never tell her, even if she did go out of her way to make that lovely hot chocolate with cinnamon and marshmallows and everything for him. She'd built up too much of a reputation with the twins for not being overly sisterly, and she'd be buggered if she tried to start now.

Now, what was that George had whispered a few moments ago? It sounded vaguely like Fred's 'Elephants' she'd overheard earlier before she'd had the pleasure of smacking the wits out of Ron. Giving a huff of irritation, she wondered what the devil they meant by elephants. Ginny decided she'd have to formulate some sort of plan of action soon; as annoying as they may be when they wreaked their usual degrees of havoc on her, she wanted this to be fixed. For Fred and George to stop giving each other strange looks and not sitting together and making such an effort not to touch each other or stand too near to each other.

She wanted her twins back.

Ginny closed her door quietly and sat at the little card table she'd set up as a writing desk; one of the legs was shorter than the rest and as a result it wobbled a bit, and the surface wasn't completely flat and even, but it was good enough. Tucking her legs underneath her and pulling out a notebook with lined paper just like the muggle children used, Ginny opened her ink pot and poised the quill over the college-ruled page. Some habits would never die.

---

You're sick, sick as all the
Secrets that you deny,
Sins like skeletons are so very hard to hide...
You're sick, sick as all the
Secrets that you deny,
Sins like skeletons are so very hard to hide.

---

Fred let out a short sigh of irritation. No matter how far away he pushed George's pillow, the scent of strawberries lingered. He settled with trying to ignore it, as hard as that was becoming. Now, for this rift that had come between him and George; what to do? Fred knew that the fault was partially his, and partially George's, but there was some extra factor that had creeped in as did the thick fog that usually settled around the Burrow in the very early morning, disappearing by sunrise and leaving the vague, lingering sense of a dream one remembered having that was slowly being forgotten the longer they stayed awake.

Fred had a sinking suspicion of what the extra factor might be; the undeniable urge he had to do things to his twin that were unimaginably wrong to do to someone even remotely related to you. He knew George was feeling the same, though he wasn't entirely sure if George felt with the same intensity. It scared Fred out of his wits how much he wanted this, and the more he thought about this fact, recognized it and knew it to be true, the more angry he became; with himself (both for having these feelings and for not carrying them out), with George (for simpy being there to tempt him), with everyone (for molding his mind to think this sort of thing was ineffably wrong and looked down upon). He knew it was irrational, but he couldn't help this anger from bubbling under the surface of his skin.

Fred had always done or said or thought something if he'd wanted to; he was the more headstrong twin, the more reckless, the more intense in his manner of living and thinking and being. Another thing that no one but George and himself would know. The fact that this so confused him, that it was so complex and taboo and tempting and that he couldn't bring himself to make a decision, was what fueled his anger.

And so he lay in bed, thinking and fuming and wanting, while just outside the door, the object at the center of this mess stood, stewing in misery for all the same reasons.

---

There's an art in seclusion, production in depression;
if a stranger turns up missing, this song is my confession.
Tell the tales of the trail of dead, lovers learn from slower hands,
Losing self in myself, inner demons make demands.

---

Ron smirked as he poured a fresh cup of tea for himself, his face still stinging but his ego remaining unharmed. Served Ginny right for being such a snoop. Not that Ron had done it purely out of respect for the twins; he'd more done it for his own amusement. The twins would sooner turn him into a beach ball than thank him, even if he HAD done it for their benefit. The twins...

That brought up some interesting thoughts. While Ron wasn't one to be in tune to the family's inner workings, he couldn't have helped but notice the odd feeling nowadays around those two. They'd always been easygoing and comfortable around each other, walking closely and sitting together and sharing this sort of intimate air of having something no one else in the family had; the special bond of being twins together. Recently something had changed, though Ron couldn't quite place his finger on what. It seemed as though they spoke less, laughed less, pranked less. And they acted funny around each other, keeping an oddly large space between themselves, fidgeting around and giving each other strange looks.

He wondered if something had happened; if they'd had a fight or something of the sort. Nah; whenever they got into one of their rare spats, they'd always bounced back very quickly and gone back to being attached at the hip. Ron had a thought he hadn't considered; maybe they were fighting over a girl. They'd always both been particularly fond of Angelina Johnson.

Ron leaned against the counter, gingerly sipping his tea in what he knew was a very ladylike manner, but he was alone so it wasn't of importance. It was bloody hot, and he would sip daintily if he liked. It wasn't as if anyone could see him.

---

You're sick, sick as all the
Secrets that you deny,
Sins like skeletons are so very hard to hide...
You're sick, sick as all the
Secrets that you deny,
Sins like skeletons are so very hard to hide.

---

George didn't know how long he'd been standing there, leaning against the door and listening for anything from his twin, when he finally stood up, disappointment fighting with sadness on his face. Not entirely sure where to go, George stood silently for a moment before turning and ascending the narrow staircase to the attic. He never went there unless it was absolutely necessary; no one would look for him there. He just needed to be alone with his thoughts for a bit.

Closing the door behind him, George wrinkled his nose slightly in the dim attic. It was very dusty up here, musky, thick, and George knew then why he never came up here in the first place. Carefully, George slipped around the boxes, finding a small pathway to take all the way to the opposite wall, where there was a small, round window caked in dust. Wrenching it open, he delighted in the rush of fresh air, dropping down to the floor next to it and leaning against the wall as the air slowly filtered through the attic. The ghost lurked in the corner, having being woken by George's entry, and peered at him, giving a little groan and clanking of the pipes around him.

"Nope, I'm not scared, and I'm not leaving. Sorry." George told him with a shrug, turning to look out the window again. The ghost, a bit disappointed, settled back to his nap and left George to ponder.

He'd always been the slightly more passive twin, the more gentle. Fred was more passionate and determined; when he wanted something, he did whatever necessary to get it. He was...intense. George was a bit more cautious, a little shy, even. The thought of revealing anything to Fred flooded him with anxiety, forced his mind into an unending cycle of analyzing all the possibilities, however ridiculous or unlikely, to try and stop him. To keep him safe.

An image of Fred yelling at him wasn't nearly as frightening as an image of Fred completely silent, treating George as a ghost; invisible, silent, nonexistant. Unrecognizable. George stared solemnly out the window, biting his lower lip as he thought it over.

"What do you think?" he asked the ghost, who replied with a low groan and a half-hearted clank against one of the smaller pipes before falling back asleep. George sighed heavily and nodded.

"You're right. I should just keep it to myself for a little longer."

---

You're suffocating me, so very hard to breathe,
My mask is growing heavy but I've forgotten who's beneath.

---

Ginny made a noise of discontent, almost a growl, and slammed her quill onto her table with much more force than necessary; the ink pot nearly tipped over, and the table wobbled precariously, its strange balance suddenly disturbed. The open notebook page said, "Fred & George" at the top in Ginny's thin, swirling script. That was all she had written.

Unfolding from the chair and stretching out her stiff limbs, Ginny decided perhaps a cup of hot tea would help the thought process. Maybe a piece of toast. With some of that lovely chocolate hazelnut spread. Hell, while she was at it, maybe a whole sandwich. Anything to contribute to the Fred And George Unity Effort, or as Ginny had come to thing of it, FAGUE, said as one would say vague but with an 'f'. It had a certain official ring to it. It gave Ginny the faint want of a secretary and some disciples to set about snooping for information and organizing things, simply for the sake of making an organization out of it. They could even have FAGUE tee shirts. Ginny knew that, sadly, it probably (hopefully) wouldn't last too long, and she'd be stuck with a tee shirt that served no purpose anymore, cause-wise.

Padding down the hallway in a silent, cat-like manner, Ginny noticed George had gone. Wondering where he'd gone, Ginny focused a good amount of energy into listening as acutely as possible as she passed the twins' bedroom door, but heard nothing.

Noiselessly turning the corner into the kitchen, Ginny put a hand over her mouth and shook with a silent, repressed snicker. Ron was drinking tea in an extremely feminine manner, pinky extended and all.

"Hello, madame." Ginny snickered, giving into temptation. As Ron spluttered about in a panic, his saucer nearly crashing to the floor, Ginny calmly poured a cup of tea and shoved two pieces of bread into the toasting oven, taking a plate and knife from their places in the cupboards and setting them out before turning to Ron with a serious expression.

"There is something wrong going on here and we're going to fix it." Ginny said matter-of-factly. Ron simply raised an eyebrow.

"We? I don't think so." Ginny gave him a look that would have curdled milk and Ron visibly shrank an inch or two. She could be a right demon when she put her mind to it.

"I wasn't asking."

---

You're sick, sick as all the
Secrets that you deny,
Sins like skeletons are so very hard to hide...

---

With a heavy sigh, Fred rolled out of bed, getting to his feet with a groan and stretching. He'd been laying in bed for almost two hours, staring into space and thinking. The silence was killing him; he'd decided to make a miraculous recovery and challenge his brothers to another game of Quidditch.

That wasn't the only thing he'd decided to do; Fred cast a nervous glance at the drawer of his and George's cramped little writing desk that he knew held parchment, long, blank sheets beckoning his quill. Opening the drawer slowly, he pulled out one of these sheets, holding it up to the light and peering at it curiously for a moment, as if it held some sort of declaration that would either dissuade him or confirm his decision. It was, of course, entirely blank, and with a sigh he picked uo his quill.

Scribbling a short note, Fred bit his lip in concentration, the jet black ink quickly drying as he wrote, cementing his curly script in a very final manner that made Fred's heart flutter with anxiety. Quickly signing his name and rolling it into a small scroll, Fred almost ran from his bedroom and into the kitchen where he knew Erroll waited patiently on his perch above the sink. Thrusting it at the sable owl, who gave him a cockeyed look before taking it, he told the addled owl the destination in a breathless voice, shooing him away before Fred could change his mind. His heart sinking as he watched Erroll shrink to a gray speck against the blue sky and finally disappear from sight, Fred tried to steady his nerves.

This would solve the problem.
It would.

It had to.

Silently, Fred trudged back to his and George's bedroom, climbing back into their bed. Ironically enough, now he sincerely felt ill.

He made sure to shove George's pillow clear off the bed before settling in under the covers and drifting back to sleep.

Several miles away, Erroll soared through the sky (weaving only just slightly), Fred's instruction fresh in his mind.

'Take this to Angelina Johnson.'

---

You're sick, sick as all the
Secrets that you deny,
Sins like skeletons are so very hard to hide.

---

Reviews:

Fool4Sasuke33: I shall update within a week, I should think, so never fear! Your suspense shall be satisfied. Thank you!!

Angels-Above: Aww, thank you so much:chucks huge crates of chocolate and Harry plushies at her: -lol- No problem, I felt really bad and wanted to let everyone know ASAP so they wouldn't be in the dark. Well, I guess you'll have to find out! -lol- Yes, I was surprised; I didn't actually listen to the song this time around until I'd already submitted the chapter. I had just loved the lyrics. I love the song itself! It's intense. Heh, I wouldn't call it FUN, per say, but I'll try. Thank you!!


Author's Note:

YAY!

IT'S FINALLY HERE!

:D

Again, sorrysorrysorry for the wait. By the way, I realize these lyrics don't really fit in the sense that the beginning is speaking of strangling lovers and whatnot, but I really enjoyed the "secrets that you deny, sins like skeletons are so very hard to hide" and "my mask is growing heavy but I've forgotten who's underneath" parts. A lot.

They're sort of meant to convey that they won't be able to keep these things to themselves much longer, I suppose, and that keeping it a secret is causing trouble. Not deaths, per say, but issues within their relationship.

I know in the message I sent to you all I said I'd try to have Chapter 5 up by Saturday, but it's looking a bit... impossible, at this point.
But, as Walt Disney said, "It's fun to do the impossible." lol
I have Band Camp and then a lunch date with friends tomorrow, so I'll have the late afternoon and evening to write, and then Thursday and Friday I may be tied up at Band Camp from 8 am to 2 pm, but those days are for all new marchers who need to learn the basics, and we're not sure if the band director needs us (Color Guard) to be there unless we're new (which I'm definitely not), so I may or may not have two free days.

Thursday afterwards I'm free to write, so you never know, and I have Friday afternoon as well, but that night I'm seeing Hairspray (squeeee) and then going to the Borders release party. lol I'm a geek.

So, I may be able to get it done and up by Saturday, but I'm just warning you all that I may not be able to due to circumstances (listed above, obviously) that I forgot to consider when I sent the message.

Thank you for your patience! (i.e., not coming after me with torches and pitchforks lol)

I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

-Char-

Author's Note Edit 1 [07/19:

Well, I don't have to go to band camp tomorrow:does happy dance:

I'm seeing Hairspray at 4:30, so I can work on it until then, and I'll have a good few hours between the end of that and whenever I leave for the Harry Potter release party.
Yay, geekosity!

Hahaha!

So, I may or may not get it done then. I hope I can. :hopeface:

From the time I obtain the book to the time I have to go in to volunteer on Saturday morning, I will be utterly unvailable. No sleep until I've finished. Then, volunteering. Then, probably some sleeping. Then some writing.
WOOT!

-Char-